


Bias

by otapocalypse



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Fluff, Jealousy, M/M, Makeouts, Masturbation, Peeping, Pining, Pre-Kerberos Mission, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-21
Updated: 2018-07-21
Packaged: 2019-06-14 03:36:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,518
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15379800
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otapocalypse/pseuds/otapocalypse
Summary: Keith sees something he's not supposed to see, sneaking around the Garrison at night





	Bias

**Author's Note:**

> I had to write something, even if it was shit

It happened one night in the Garrison, not long before Shiro was due to depart on his trip to Kerberos. Keith knew he shouldn't be out- he knew there were a lot of things he shouldn't do that he'd done anyway in the past, and breaking the rules had become a familiar now. Nothing had ever happened, and so nothing ever would happen. He'd built up an invincibility in his mind, that allowed him to roam the halls freely and without worry. That invincibility had only held up because it had never truly been put to the test. Not like it had on this night.

He found himself, naturally, drifting to Shiro's office, and when he found, rather disappointed, that the other wasn't there- he always kept late hours, what could he possibly be up to?- his feet headed decidedly for the older man's dorm. He'd surely be there- nothing else operated so late at night, made it easier to pick out unsuspecting strays who thought themselves too slick for Iverson's ever-watching eyes. Keith wouldn't fall prey to that overconfidence, he was sure.

It was a typical journey through the maze of hallways; also a trap set specifically for misbehaving cadets, Keith decided. Not that he'd get turned around- no, years of living in this godforsaken place had broken him of that embarrassing habit. He wouldn't consider himself a respectable pilot if it hadn't. Still. There were patrolling officers to avoid, cameras with blind spots to be exploited, diversions to be made, risky dashes across an open space to be run. It was understandable, then, if one became distracted by all the other obstacles, and forgot the most important of paying attention to where they were sneaking and hiding and dashing.

His body knew the moves to this dance by now. In all the years, the patterns never changed, and that seemed to him the greatest evidence of the Garrison being all bark, no bite. They could talk themselves up all they wanted about discipline and heroism, but being behind the scenes as he was, Keith knew better. He'd been witness to their sins- the verbal abuse, the laziness of the higher officers, the ones willing to look the other way when some rich kid decided to break the rules. They were just having a little fun. He was the criminal, the rat set loose for the cat to chase.

Not Shiro, though. Shiro was the one exception to the rule. His grand speeches and kind overtures had never been a front; Shiro didn’t need anything false to draw others to him, that was simply his nature. He was brave, strong, smart, and had a heart that hadn’t been shrunken or frozen over by the strict regime of the Garrison- if anything, he seemed to thrive in it; given a purpose and making a change in the lives of others had only made him warmer, softer. The effect of making him cocky and close-minded had never taken root in that man. Maybe that was why Keith had, despite all his efforts to weed the garden of his mind, started nurturing the seeds of affection long ago. It wasn’t that he wanted trouble- he attracted enough, being known as the weird punk kid who wasn’t to be trusted under any circumstances- it was simply that the power of attraction was far greater than the power of restraint in his young mind. 

He’d watched Shiro over the years, just as much, if not more so, than Shiro had watched him. Takashi Shirogane was the prime example of leadership by example. He showed cadets what to do, rather than telling them. In fact, outside of instructing, Keith didn't believe he'd ever heard the man utter a single order, and yet more and more Keith found himself doing something that was not in his character at all, but was definitely in Shiro's. It should have irked him- he hated when officers got the best of him, tricked him into behaving somehow, but this didn't feel like a trick. It didn't even feel intentional. It was just the kind of man Shiro was, and Keith would be damned if he said he didn't want to be that man.

It wouldn't be a lie, either, to say he wanted other things as well.

It'd been years since he'd arrived, reluctant and only at Shiro's request, at the front desk of the Garrison, enduring skeptical looks at his rough appearance and small size. He'd gotten into an argument with someone or other, who'd insisted there'd been a mistake, there was no way Takashi Shirogane, of all people, had allowed this dirty little stray into the building. It was all the more delightful, then, when Shiro himself had rounded the corner and, taking no notice of the front desk’s dismissal of Keith, had greeted him like an equal, no, an old friend, and had immediately thanked him for coming, leading him off to a musty, tiny office where he'd begun the grueling process of mountains of paperwork to register with the Garrison, essentially handing over his future in an afternoon. But, there too, Shiro had guided him, explained everything to him patiently, and made sure he knew what kind of consequences he'd face if there was trouble with the Garrison. Really, he'd been doomed from day one.

But he couldn't blame the man, not at all. Grown now, Keith’s desires had only become more pronounced, his rebellious tendencies taking on greater and greater risks in an effort to sort out his agonizing, confused feelings, in an effort to maybe even impress Shiro, though deep down, Keith knew it wasn't possible. The guy had a tagalong already, another officer by the name of Adam, of whom Keith really didn't see the appeal. The guy was a nerd, pretentious as they came, and he was no way in Shiro's league, if you asked Keith. It didn't change the fact that Shiro was clearly madly in love with him, didn't stop the way they brushed against each other when they thought no one was looking, didn't calm the look in Shiro's eyes, burning with affection yet soft as he gazed at the other. Keith could hardly stand to watch, and yet he could never look away.

Nearing Shiro's dorm room now, he saw that it was open, just slightly ajar, a warm shaft of light spilling out into the otherwise dark hallway. Keith stopped, peered around. How could someone as responsible and careful as Shiro leave his door opened? Not that anyone would take the opportunity to steal or vandalize _Takashi Shirogane’s_ room, but an officer could still come by, see the offending opened door as negligence, and punish him for it. Keith's heart sank; the door could only mean one thing: Shiro had left in a rush, for whatever reason, and would now be out for a while. He'd likely just missed him. Nevertheless. Keith knew he should close it for him, before anyone noticed. He approached to do just that, bathed in the sliver of golden light, when a sound made him freeze, and against all his better judgement, Keith dared to peek into the room.

There. There was Shiro, but something was wrong. He was leaning back, heavily, against the desk issued to all officers and cadets with dorms, his hand gripping white-knuckled at the edge. Keith, confused, concerned about his friend's state, allowed his gaze to travel up, along a muscled torso just as tense, barely concealed by thin, black fabric that stuck to every hard edge and every smooth, tantalizing curve. It was too late to stop now; Keith was ogling the way Shiro tensed, moved, rolled his hips, still half-hidden by the door. Breathless, mouth dry, Keith continued to watch, not daring to move, as Shiro suddenly lurched backwards- no, he'd been pushed, but this wasn't a fight. His face appeared then, all hard eyes and dark hair and chiseled jawline, his lips puckered, locked with Adam's, who advanced further, closing the distance between their bodies, nothing but thin training suits separating them now. 

Keith felt a stirring within himself as they moved, almost dancing with each other, if this particular dance meant locked lips, undulating hips, soft noises and large hands roaming everywhere. It was too much and, for a moment, Keith could almost understand Shiro's attraction. Then, he came to his senses, and the old disgust was back. He could hardly stand to watch. He couldn't look away. His hand slipped, down, down, his eyes hard and locked on the couple making out just before his eyes, completely oblivious as he began to palm himself through his jeans, teeth sinking sharply into his lower lip to keep himself silent. This courtesy wasn't on Shiro's mind, it seemed, for in that moment Adam's hands wandered just a bit too far, a bit too low, and Keith watched, eyes wide, body aching, as he watched those long, slim fingers crook and rub slowly over a rather large bulge in Shiro's suit, prompting the most guttural sound Keith had ever heard in his life to slip from Shiro's throat. The moan came rumbling up from deep in his chest, and his face twisted into an expression of such pleading and arousal that by the time he'd bucked his hips into the touch, Keith had already sucked in a sharp breath, biting into his hand to keep quiet, and dashed away, silent as he'd come.

The trip back, however, was not as easy as on the way there. The ache didn't go away, Keith knew it wouldn't go away, not until he could get his hands on himself proper, and he nearly stumbled his way through the halls now, his head in a daze and his entire body searing with heat, sweat collecting in the small of his back. Sure, it wasn't the first time he'd been aroused- certainly not the first time he'd hurried back to the safety of his private dorm (he was beginning to thank the gods for his seeming inability to get along with the other cadets) for a quick release- but this was new, this was carnal. This was a need. It was miraculous in itself that he even made it back at all, doubly so that no one noticed his mad, clumsy pursuit of the treat waiting for him back in his room. 

Once there, it was all he could do to shut the door slowly, quietly, quickly locking the several bolts he'd installed himself- against the Garrison's wishes- and turning to trip over his own feet in his haste to get rid of his boots and collapse onto his bed. He tossed the covers aside, throwing himself down onto his back and shuffling to get out of his pants. The covers were thrown back over his body, the need for privacy pressing even in a dark, locked up room. His hands shook as he unceremoniously shoved his hands into his pants, seized with the delight of impending pleasure. He let out a pained groan at the first touch, recoiling. Too much, it was all too much. The cool, rough feeling of the blankets scratching over his skin, contrasting with the hot, warm pulse just beneath the surface, that was burning him from the inside out. He needed release. He needed Shiro…

Shiro.

That, he could focus on. He brought the scene that had put him in this state back to the forefront of his mind, and wrapped his hand carefully around the base of his cock. The sight of Shiro, all tense and eager at the hands of someone else, the roll of his hips, the death grip he'd had on the desk. Keith began to stroke, slowly, sweat and precum slicking his hand and causing him to shake already. The way the sweat had caused the tight, black fabric of Shiro's suit to stick to his skin, stretched tight over his body and leaving nothing to the imagination. The vein popping in his neck, the swell of his chest, the grooves of his flat stomach leading down to the hand caressing so teasingly over his cock. Keith's hand began to glide up, tightened, his thumb pressing and rubbing over the bundle of nerves just under his head.

“A-hh…” He moaned brokenly, his head falling back, his hair damp with sweat as it fanned out on the pillow beneath him. His leg lifted on its own accord as the muscles in his stomach began to tighten, winding him up, causing him to curl in on himself. Keith bent his knee, slowly straightened his leg again, pushing down hard into the mattress, hips raising up into his fist-

“Hnnnmmgh…” He was too preoccupied to be embarrassed by the noises he was making, involuntary, a slave to his own body as he sped up his strokes, starting to pant in high, painful gasps, winding ever tighter. Shiro's voice, guttural and growling out that desperate moan, rumbling with the force of his own pleasure. The look in Shiro's eyes as he pleaded, silent, not with Adam, but with Keith. Shiro, feeling the pleasure Keith was giving him. Shiro, his eyes screwing shut when the effort of keeping them open became too much. Shiro, panting and sweating and writhing along with him, beneath him, on top of him, _Shiro_ -

_Shiro_.

“ _Shiro…_ ” 

Keith twisted his wrist, and the pleasure reached its peak. The tension released in one sudden, explosive moment, and a cry was ripped from Keith's throat before he could stop it, his eyes flying open wide before squeezing shut again, tears flowing freely from the corners as he trembled through his orgasm, feeling the spurts of thick, hot come flow over his hand, before he finally collapsed, wrecked and blubbering, sobbing Shiro's name softly into his pillow. He calmed soon enough, still shaky and teary-eyed, but satisfied, feeling heavy and warm down to his bones, too tired to even clean himself up beyond scuffing his hand against the sheets a few times, well out of the way of his sleeping space. Still trembling, beginning to feel the beginnings of bliss and fatigue settle like a cloud over him, Keith relaxed, sinking down into the covers with a low, drawn-out groan. His eyes shut, his entire body lax as he imagined Shiro there with him.

It was fitting, after all.

Shiro, whispering how amazing amazing he was. Those large hands smoothing over his tired muscles, kneading the tension from his shoulders, his back, his arms. Those thick fingers combing gently through his hair, sending shivers down his spine and lulling him further to sleep. Those soft lips pressing to his skin; his forehead, his neck, his jaw, his shoulder. And finally, finally, that warm, solid body settling next to his, so close he could almost feel the heat leeching off of Shiro, loosening him up, teasing a gentle sigh from his chest as he finally let sleep claim him, not a thought or a dream in his mind that didn't revolve around the man that had stolen his heart.

He was fucked.


End file.
